[The Drawing Room at Lord Ardville's.]
Hilaria.
The secret must ere now be revealed
to Miss Exbury. My heart is very heavy about this good and dear old lord;
and not very light, I am afraid, about his son! How odd it is I never can
get that Valentine out of my head! Do what I will, try how I may, turn which
way I can,—still he rises uppermost in my thoughts. If it had not been for
Sir Archy—but how glad I am I resisted! Yet I have never been happy since!
—but I have been gay—so nobody has found it out. [Enter Lord Exbury.]
My lord!
Lord Exbury.
I thought I should have met you
in the room with my Daughter.
Hilaria.
Shall I call Miss Exbury, my lord?
Lord Exbury.
By no means. I have stated to her
all it is essential she should learn, and I am better satisfied to speak with
you alone.
Hilaria.
Should he name Valentine!—[aside.]
Lord Exbury.
The solemn trust with which my
friend, your Father, left you to my guardianship, your residence in my family,
and still more, if possible, the endearing disposition with which you have
captivated all our hearts—
Hilaria.
He is coming to Valentine!—[aside.]
Lord Exbury.
—Are circumstances which do not
give me more pleasure, from the confidence with which they urge me to treat
you, than pain, at this moment, from the nature of my present communication.
Hilaria.
I am sure, my lord, if I thought
—I am sure, my lord, I—I—He will plead for Valentine,
and I shall never withstand him! [aside.]
Lord Exbury.
The evil which must now burst publicly
upon my house, has long hung upon my apprehensions; yet, while I saw any chance
it might be averted, I confined them to my own bosom. The time is over now
for concealment: it is over for hope! In one word, I must renounce the world
for the present myself, or know I shall leave my children to obscurity and
distress.
Hilaria.
Is it possible!
Lord Exbury.
You will easily trace the cause
to its source: the extravagances of my son Mordaunt are at least not darkened
by hypocrisy, for he does not more carelessly involve than unconcernedly betray
himself—not, alas!—as you will know—from frankness of character, but from
deeming it fine to be wholly indifferent to the opinions and the feelings of
others.
Hilaria.
I have long feared he was imprudent,
but suspected not how widely.
Lord Exbury.
Three or four years of retirement
and oeconomy may yet retrieve his fortune and credit, and enable me to secure
his sister's portion from any mischief through a future relapse into the same
courses: for though I mean severely to probe, and hope a little to touch him,
I dare not build upon much stability of repentance from a disposition which
submits to be guided by the fluctuating breath of Fashion.
Hilaria.
How I grieve for you, my lord!
—yet—I wish he would not speak with such contempt of Fashion! [aside.]
Lord Exbury.
Numberless have been my efforts
to convince his mind, and induce him to retrench his expences: but there is
a madness in the times that sets Reason at naught, and commits conviction
to punishment. His creditors are now come upon him in a body, his resources
are at an end, and his character, and my name—are disgraced together!
Hilaria.
Your name? O no, my lord! Your name,
established by your own unsullied life, must be respected as long as it can
be remembered.
Lord Exbury.
Yesterday he confessed to me his
situation, and informed me of a compromise to which his creditors had agreed,
but which he had no means to fulfil without my aid. As he seasoned the avowal
by a promise to be wholly directed by me, I formed at once the plan I am now
going to execute: I ordered the immediate discharge of all my servants, the
sale of my town house and furniture—
Hilaria.
Oh!
Lord Exbury.
And that both my villas should be
let upon a three years lease. I then sent off Davis in search of a cheap asylum
for myself and family.
Hilaria.
I am thunderstruck!
Lord Exbury.
Yet I then thought I had three Weeks
before me for preparation; but when I acquainted my Brother Ardville with my
design, his reluctance to lose sight of his fair Enslaver, precipitated the
proposals of which the failure has caused this general breach. The violence
of his displeasure, which obliges me thus suddenly to quit his house, forces
from me also this abrupt communication. Your cousin, Sir Archy Fineer, who has
been agent, I find, for Mordaunt, with his chief creditors, has come hither
this morning to acquaint us that the compromise is arranged. All is now ready
for our removal. I grieve for my poor Girl; but Mordaunt engages to subscribe
to any reform; and Valentine—
Hilaria.
I wish I were safe in town! [aside.]
Lord Exbury.
Valentine, whose little independent
fortune, left him by his aunt, is in no danger from this storm, has youth,
and, I think, talents. I am not uneasy for him. He will be my best support.
Hilaria.
What next! [aside.]
Lord Exbury.
But with regard to you,
my dear Hilaria—I have, indeed, much solicitude. I cannot expect you should
shut yourself up with us in the country—
Hilaria.
Indeed,
my lord, if you knew half my concern for this affair—or half the reverence
I bear for you—
Lord Exbury.
I
know your kindness of Heart, & am but too sensible of the loss we shall
all sustain by the deprivation of your society—though you will permit me,
I trust, to hope we shall not entirely lose sight of you? Where-ever you fix
your abode, you will come to us, I must flatter myself, sometimes, for a week
or two, in the summer?
Hilaria.
In
the summer? My dearest lord Exbury!—my honoured Guardian!—I will come
to you at all seasons—or, rather, I will quit you in none! Take me with
you, my dear lord, whither soever you go!
Lord Exbury.
My
amiable Ward! You oblige, penetrate me!—From Valentine—
Hilaria.
I am undone! [aside.]
Lord Exbury.
You must be sure you have
nothing to fear from Vlentine. You have thought him romantic, but you will
never find him ungenerous. He proposed himself with an idea—vain, perhaps,
but not unnatural, that you might both relinquish the luxuries—the nominal
ones—of the World, for the sake of each other; he is now separately
driven from them himself by the fall of his family: he will propose, therefore,
no more, since the sacrifice would no longer be mutual, nor voluntary. I hear
the Horses. I must return to my poor Girl. [Exit.]
Hilaria.
He
will propose to me no more!—& Lord Exbury is not uneasy for him?—I
have a great mind not to be of the party.—Yet, to abandon this admirable
man—my friend, my Guardian—in his fallen state—abominable! detestable!
No! I'll go with him—& I'll stay with him—but as to Valentine—How
I wish I could keep him from my thoughts!
[Enter Porter.]
Porter.
The carriages are at the door,
ma'am. [Exit.]
Hilaria.
I come. What a glance shall I have
from Valentine, when he hears my resolution to live with him—with them,
I mean!—in the country! Ah, if I trust myself to meet his Eyes, Love will
win the day, & Fashion may resent it at leisure! No! I won't look at him!
[Exit.]
Scene 2
[A Country Landscape, with a view of Lord Ardville's House & Park. Enter Mr. Litchburn.]
Litchburn.
I
don't see which way my lord is; but I must needs stop a little, I am so tired.
I can't but say that I had as lief he had not asked for me—if it were not
for the honour! Being always looked down upon keeps a man's spirit under surprisingly.
If a poor dependant did but dare speak out, how many things his Patron would
hear that, naturally, he does not much dream of! But the lower a man is, &
the more he has to say, the less he must come out with it. O—here is my
lord.
[Enter Lord Ardville.]
Lord Ardville.
Yes! I penetrate into the mystery
without difficulty. 'Twas a family compact. They think to secure my Estate
to themselves, by instigating this silly chit (31)
to refuse me. 'Tis vainly, however, they seek to deceive me! To form a wrong
judgement is a weakness that has never happenned to me yet. Their mercenary
malice shall recoil to its source. I must repress my resentment, however,
&, for my own honour's sake, take care that the secret not be spread.
Litchburn.
My lord!—[advancing fearfully,
& bowing at every step.]
Lord Ardville.
O, good Morning, Mr. Litchburn.
I shall discover from this Ideot if any rumour of my rejection be got abroad
[aside.]. I was afraid, Mr. Litchburn, you did not mean to do me
the favour of following me.
Litchburn.
Yes, I did, my lord, indeed!
Lord Ardville.
You
did? You think it a favour, then?
Litchburn.
If it's your lordship's pleasure,
I'll think it so, to be sure!
Lord Ardville.
May I take the liberty, sir, to
ask what it was brought you to my house just now?
Litchburn.
What brought me, my lord? I never
come but on foot.
Lord Ardville.
I did not mean to enquire about
your equipage, Sir! What an empty Fellow! [half apart.]
Litchburn [overhearing him].
Empty? I'm sure I have eat as good
a dinner—but great folks always suspect one come to eat! [aside.]
Lord Ardville.
I fear I have betrayed some disorder.
I must not have him think me piqued. [aside.] My good Mr. Litchburn,
I only want to know if any body has been babbling to you—that is, if you
came this Morning with any particular curiosity or design? But I see you did!
—Nay, don't deny it!
Litchburn.
Design,
my good lord? I am sure I may safely say I never had any designs in the course
of my whole life.
Lord Ardville.
You'll pardon me, Mr. Litchburn!
I am not very apt to be mistaken. It is not a thing to which you will very commonly
find me addicted. Think again!
Litchburn.
I will, my lord. [bowing.]
Lord Ardville.
Well, sir?
Litchburn.
Your lordship is the best judge,
to be sure, my lord; but if I came for any thing else—it's quite unknown to
me!—though I don't in the least mean to doubt of it.
Lord Ardville.
And what did you find all my people
about?
Litchburn.
Nothing, my lord.
Lord Ardville.
Their usual employment!—But of
what did they talk? Did they open their budget of family scandal to you?
Litchburn.
They opened nothing before me, my
lord, to the best of my recollection.
Lord Ardville.
What a literal blockhead! But what
did you pick up? [aside.]
Litchburn.
Nothing, as I hope to live, my
good lord! [spreading his hands.]
Lord Ardville.
What a consummate driveler! [aside.]
In one word—Who's that?
[The Strange Man crosses the stage.]
Litchburn.
My lord, it's somewhat surprising,
but I can't rightly tell myself! though it's a person that I met yesterday
no less than three times. But we have interchanged nothing in the discourse
way. And what's the extraordinary, is, that nobody here-abouts knows so much
as an iota of what he may have in his head.
Lord Ardville.
Be so good, then, as either to learn
his business, or give him to understand I allow of no person's patroling about
my grounds unexamined.
Litchburn.
I will, my lord.
Lord Ardville.
Stay, Mr. Litchburn; tell me, first,
and without scruple—did my people insinuate any thing to you relative to...
to... Miss Dalton? I see, by your look, how it is! I don't very customarily
form a wrong opinion. They spoke to you, then, did they?—They fabricated an
hundred falsehoods?—Hay?—
Litchburn.
I did not take any particular account,
indeed, my lord.
Lord Ardville.
Perhaps you think it all truth?
Hay?—And you mean to run all round the neighbourhood to promulgate it?
Litchburn.
I run, my lord?—I must not contradict
your lordship—but, if I may be believed, I have not run these thirty years!
Lord Ardville.
His stupidity is amazing! [aside.]
You'll tell all the county, I say, that Miss Dalton has rejected me?
Litchburn.
If it is your lordship's order.
Lord
Ardville.
My
order?
Litchburn.
My
lord?
Lord
Ardville.
What
do you mean, Mr. Litchburn?
Litchburn.
I
mean nothing, I'm sure, my lord!
Lord
Ardville.
That
I have often found! You think, also, yourself, perhaps, that I have been playing
the part of an old fool?—Hay?—Speak!
Litchburn.
I
must not contradict your lordship.
Lord
Ardville.
How,
sir! [angrily.]
Litchburn
With
your lordship's permission, I'll humbly take my leave.
Lord
Ardville.
What
now? What are you going for?
Litchburn.
I
am so at a loss how to answer, my lord
Lord Ardville.
Suppose,
then, you remain a few minutes without answering? Is that impossible to you,
Mr. Litchburn?
Litchburn.
I
hope I sha'n't speak another word, my good lord.
Lord
Ardville.
Very
well. Tell me, now, then, what they said about my nephew Valentine.
Litchburn.
They
said he was a very good young Gentleman, indeed, my lord.
Lord
Ardville.
They
did?—And what else?
Litchburn.
And
that he was so surprisingly in love with Miss Hilaria but it was not today they
said that,—it was yesterday—so surprisingly in love, that he took no natural
pleasure, not even in his meals! And what's more the extraordinary still, hardly
knew his bed time.
Lord
Ardville.
So,
so, so! That's settled, is it? And my brother is so weak as to give his consent?
But I was confident that was the case.
Litchburn.
Dear
Heart! he's making out the lord knows what that I've never said a word of! But
I dare not interrupt him. [aside.]
Lord
Ardville.
I'll
pursue her, however, through some other channel, and yet disappoint them.
Litchburn.
I
must not utter a syllable. [aside.]
Lord
Ardville.
What
are you so silent for, Mr. Litchburn? Why don't you speak?
Litchburn.
I
was only just going to think what to say, my lord.
Lord
Ardville.
Did
you gather nothing else?—speak honestly.
Litchburn.
No,
indeed, my lord!—except just this little daisie, that I took the liberty to
pluck by the Park Gate, and put in my buttonhole.
Lord
Ardville.
Who's
that sauntering this way?
Litchburn.
The
Porter told me Sir Archy Fineer was here, my lord.
Lord
Ardville.
Miss
Dalton's Cousin! Now would I forfeit my estate to know if any one has had the
impertinence to hint to him that I put myself into the power of that little
fool!—which, however, I shall totally disclaim,—unless I appoint him my
ambassador for opening a new treaty with her. I'll sound him. [aside.]
Mr. Litchburn, if you have any engagement for this morning—
Litchburn.
None
at all, my lord.
Lord Ardville.
I
won't impede your keeping it.
Litchburn.
I've
none to keep, if I may be believed, my lord!
Lord
Ardville.
Why
then keep that none!—Good morning, sir.
Litchburn.
I
believe he means I may go. [aside.] My lord [bows]—I am
as glad to be off as a man that's just out of the Pillory!—except for the
honour!—[aside. Exit.]
[Lord Ardville walks apart. Enter Sir Archy Fineer.]
Sir
Archy.
O,
there parades my old spark!—what a jaunty Philander (32) to sigh at the feet
of a blooming young nymph! If a man did but know, when he acts like a fool,
how he looks like a fool, he would either hide himself, or grow wiser. If I
make this match, the coterie of Hilaria,—her opera Box,—her purse, occasionally
—and her Table habitually, must be mine. (33) 'Twill be mighty convenient. Yes,
I'll e'en tie the noose for her. [aside.] My lord Ardville! I am proud
of this opportunity of paying you my respects. What a superb place you have
here!
Lord Ardville.
Your
Servant, Sir Archy.
Sir
Archy.
I
have been charmed with your mansion, and in rapture with your grounds. All is
beauty, magnificence, attraction. One thing alone I find incomplete: I see no
fair Participator in the delights of your habitation.
Lord
Ardville.
He
has learnt the whole business already. I can scarcely contain my rage. [aside.]
Every one is the best judge, sir, of his own delights.
Sir
Archy.
Yet
every one must join in acknowledging that a lovely young female—
Lord
Ardville.
Have
a care, sir!
Sir
Archy.
My
lord?
Lord Ardville.
I
am not easily amused with raillery, Sir Archy.
Sir
Archy.
Pardon
me, my lord; I meant none. I had seriously imagined, from the sight of my fair
young cousin under your lordship's roof—
Lord
Ardville.
What
would you insinuate, sir?
Sir
Archy.
Forgive
me, my lord; 'twas, at least, a natural mistake; for who can see Beauty and
Splendour meet, and not fancy they seem just adapted for each other?
Lord
Ardville.
If
this is one of your sneers, Sir Archy—
Sir
Archy.
No,
upon my word! Related as I am to Miss Dalton, how could I help wishing her such
an honourable establishment?
Lord
Ardville.
He
is the very man for my embassy. [aside.] I perceive, Sir Archy—for
you will not very often, I believe, find me guilty of misapprehension—you
are fully apprized of this little—simple—anecdote: but before I enquire
into the means of your information, permit me to ask, categorically, the use
you wish to make of it?
Sir
Archy.
I
would not, my lord, be officious, or impertinent; but I am impelled, equally
by regard for my cousin, and respect for your lordship, to offer my poor services
towards bringing this affair to a happier conclusion.
Lord
Ardville.
You
must conceive, Sir Archy, I am not a person to be trifled with, and your Cousin
—
Sir
Archy.
Youthful
inexperience, my lord, may sometimes stand in need of friendly counsel.
Lord
Ardville.
You
conclude her conduct, then, to be under some inimical influence?
Sir
Archy.
'Tis
impossible, otherwise, to account for what has happenned.
Lord
Ardville.
I
confess myself of that opinion, sir; and an error of judgement is not—precisely
—the thing to which I am most liable.
Sir
Archy.
Can
your lordship wonder, then, at my solicitude to save an amiable young relation
from repentance?
Lord
Ardville.
If
you observe any symptoms of that, sir, I here endow you with full powers to
renew to Miss Dalton the proposals I made her last night.
Sir
Archy.
I
am enchanted with the commission. I will fly to her new habitation, which is
not ten paces from this spot, and, in less than half an hour, I shall have the
honour of waiting upon your lordship with the result of my enterprize.
Lord
Ardville.
I
shall expect you, sir.
Sir
Archy.
I'll
make the match—and Hilaria shall keep me a pharo Table (34) in return. [aside.
Exit.]
Lord
Ardville.
My
Brother and his family will now, I flatter myself, discover that I have the
skill to execute what I have the sagacity to plan. My calculations, I believe,
will be found tolerably correct. [Exit.]
[Enter Mr. Litchburn, slowly.]
Litchburn.
Now
my good lord is gone on, I may come back, and go by the right way; for it's
quite the extraordinary, but I am always in such a dilemma when my lord's by,
that I am sure to go the direct contrary. My poor legs ache prodigiously with
waiting to get by.
[Enter the Strange Man.]
O, there's the dodging man that my lord did me the honour to order me to get out of the way: and, to be sure, I am very proud to do what my lord, bids me—else, he looks so bluff, I had almost as lief be excused speaking to him. However, my lord must be obeyed. Pray, sir [gently advancing to the Strange Man]—Pray, sir, might I just take the liberty to ask an iota, or two, of what you may happen to want in this neighbourhood?
Strange
Man.
No.
Litchburn.
He
speaks so unexpected, I feel almost as if he had knocked me down! [aside.]
Will you favour me, then, sir, with a permit just to enquire what your business
may be?
Strange
Man.
Yes.
Litchburn.
I
am very much beholden to you, indeed, sir. Pray, sir, what is it?
Strange
Man.
My
own.
Litchburn.
Then
perhaps, sir, it may be somewhat of the secret?
Strange
Man.
Perhaps
it be.
Litchburn.
May
be, then, sir, it mayn't be agreeable to you to advise me of it?
Strange
Man.
Belike
it be n't.
Litchburn.
I
mean no harm, sir; only my lord has had the condescendsion to command me to
say, that he is rather of the particular, in not being over complaisant about
any Gentleman's walking much at random just without his Park pales.
Strange
Man.
Don't
a like it?
Litchburn.
I
am inclined to think not, sir.
Strange
Man.
Why
then let un ax 'em to walk within 'em.
Litchburn.
What,
my lord? My lord ask such a thing of a stranger!
Strange
Man.
If
a don't like a stranger, let a strike up an acquaintance. If he be ready, so
be I. Here's my fist.
Litchburn.
Dear
Heart! your fist to my lord?—It's pretty lucky his lordship does not hear
you... craving your pardon for the remark.
Strange Man.
'Tmought
be luckier if a did.
Litchburn.
Luckier?
Strange
Man.
Ay;
prove a wa'n't deaf. [Mr. Litchburn holds up his hands in amazement.]
Does a bide all alone in that big house?
Litchburn.
Yes;
except when he has his good Brother there—or his niece—or his nephews—
or—
Strange
Man.
Is
not one Muster Wallentine (35) one of 'um?
Litchburn.
I
don't extraordinary much like being queried by such a low companion.—(36) Only
it's a moot point, if I affront him, but he tells me it's a word & a blow!
And I should make but a puny hand at a boxing match. I'd better try a civil
get off. [aside.] Sir, I hope you'll favour me to excuse my not over-caring
to stay in this sharp air, the wind being rather a detriment than otherwise
to my Cough; for, last Thursday Evening, walking out pretty nigh upon twilight,
I caught a great cold. Good day, Sir. [Exit.]
Strange
Man.
Did
ye? Make much on't, then; it's well to catch anything these hard times. So Muster
Wallentine—[following.]
Scene 3
[An ordinary Parlour. Enter Hilaria.]
Hilaria.
How
singular that Valentine should not hand me to the carriage! Where could he possibly
be? What a dismal place is this? [looking round] O London! enchanting
London! when shall I behold thee again? If Valentine were not expected, I greatly
fear—dearly as I love lord Exbury—I could hardly remain in this petrifying
country spot another hour.
[Enter Sir Archy Fineer.]
Sir Archy! I thought you were gone back to town?
Sir
Archy.
I
have deferred my journey only for five minutes, in which small space of time
you must answer me the following questions: will you be a Baroness?—or a Shepherdess?
—order your carriages? Or feed your chickens?—Give a ball to half London?
—or a dish of tea to the Curate's wife, and five small children?
Hilaria.
O,
if you mean to speak again of that hideous old Peer—
Sir
Archy.
What
matters his being hideous to a wife?
Hilaria.
How?
Sir
Archy.
The
honey-moon, indeed, may be somewhat less loving for it, but, that over, who,
of any fashion, live enough together to care whether their mate be hideous,
or adorable?
Hilaria.
But
he is so dreadfully haughty—
Sir
Archy.
You
need desire no greater advantage. Your youth and beauty will soon cast all his
pride and ill-humour upon others; while, for yourself, with the smallest
portion of address, you may contrive to have your pharo Table recruited (37) for
every cross word.
Hilaria.
Pharo
Table?
Sir
Archy.
Should
you not like to keep one?
Hilaria.
How
can you teize one so!—to be sure I should!—
Sir
Archy.
Then
he is just the thing for you: he is exactly framed to give the celebrity of
Fashion to spirit and beauty—for where a woman cares for her husband—you
hear of her no more.
Hilaria.
O
fie, Sir Archy!
Sir
Archy.
Take
it, my fair Cousin, for a general rule, That where a lady is peculiarly famed
for her entertainments to the world, she is not in high danger of envy for her
conjugal bliss.
Hilaria.
Now
how provoking that is! And I really cannot—just now—recollect many instances
to contradict it.
Sir Archy.
And
yet you fancy you shall do better to waste your prime in a lonely Village?
Hilaria.
I
am sure we shall be very... comfortable.
Sir
Archy.
For
a week, or so,—in the dog days, to refresh and clarify, the country is very
well; but for a whole season—a year—two, three years—
Hilaria.
I
owe so much to Lord Exbury—
Sir
Archy.
To
consume a whole life with sauntering in a Garden,—visiting a drowsy neighbour,
—or coqueting with a wretched red Coat, (38) bound apprentice for three years
to the nearest town?
Hilaria.
Now
don't try to frighten me!
Sir
Archy.
To
be shut up, evening after evening, certain that not a soul will enter the house;
—to see the same faces to day as yesterday, & to-morrow as to day;—no
relief from insipidity,—no escape from uniformity,—no awakening from sleep!
—
Hilaria.
You
are really cruel: yet I don't shrink from your picture. [walking away.]
Sir
Archy.
No
concert!—no assembly!—no ball!—[following her.]
Hilaria.
Do
be quiet!—
Sir
Archy.
No
Milliners!
Hilaria.
How
you delight to torment!
Sir
Archy.
And
no better companion than that dawdling Miss Exbury!
Hilaria.
Yes,
but the family—
Sir
Archy.
Mordaunt
yawning of your party, only because he has not a Guinea to carry him elsewhere.
Hilaria.
Yes,
—but still—the family—alltogether—
Sir
Archy.
Valentine,
who alone might give some spirit to the tribe, shirking it—
Hilaria.
How!
Sir Archy.
Did
you think he would come to this dreary hovel?
Hilaria.
Nay,
why should he not?
Sir
Archy.
Very
possibly he may have some business—some little engagement—in town.
Hilaria.
In
Town? What? will he quit the Country just as we all—that is, just as his Father
fixes his abode in it?
Sir
Archy.
He
will, past doubt. You may depend upon that.
Hilaria.
Is
it possible!—so fond as he seemed of domestic life! so eager for a rural residence!
ah! all men are alike!
Sir
Archy.
Yes,
where they have a point to carry. Your good sense rendered his attempt upon
you abortive, & his own therefore, now shews him, that he may find full
as good entertainment in London, as in peering through hedges in the country,
for a peep at the high road that leads to it.
Hilaria.
How
stupid the house will be! I shall never bear it!—That frivolous Miss Exbury
—that
Mordaunt
—such utter retirement—it will be quite insupportable! [half apart, &
walking about.]
Sir
Archy.
She
is struck at last! [aside.] Well, then, coz, I must tell Lord Ardvllle
you won't hear of any settlements, however sumptuous?
Hilaria.
What?
Sir
Archy.
That
the thoughts of his equipages only fill you with disdain?
Hilaria.
Ha?
Sir Archy.
That pin-money is your aversion?
Hilaria.
What
are you talking about?
Sir Archy.
That
you hold nothing in such contempt as a title?
Hilaria.
Pho!
Sir Archy.
And
that a young Widow's jointure (39)—and that living in London—and that a Box
at the Opera—
Hilaria.
O
sir Archy!—
Sir
Archy.
Are
all things so detestable you can never endure to hear them mentioned?
Hilaria.
A
Box at the Opera!—Do go, tormenter!
Sir
Archy.
And
this is the answer I am to take.
Hilaria.
If
you insist upon carrying one of your own fabricating.
Sir Archy.
Will
you help me to a softer one?
Hilaria.
No!
—I cannot! [sighing.]
Sir
Archy.
Will
you suffer him to frame one for himself?
Hilaria.
I
don't know what I shall do!—I am quite—now don't look so provoking!
Sir
Archy.
He
is waiting impatiently for your decision. The crisis is come, & it must
be made. Solitude and Morpheus—or the Opera and a Coronet! (40)
Hilaria.
I'll
—I'll send an answer tomorrow.
Sir
Archy.
Come,
come, you waver?—Take courage, sweet Coz, and receive my felicitations as
Lady Ardville at once!—I will fetch him!—
Hilaria.
O
no, no!—you terrify me!
Sir Archy. I rejoice in the fair issue of my negociation!—Adieu!
Hilaria.
Stay!
stay!—keep him off, at least, as long as possible!
Sir
Archy.
He
shall not come till the evening.
Hilaria.
O
no!—not then!—not so soon!—
Sir
Archy.
I
will defer my own journey back till to-morrow, and herald him hither to supper.
Hilaria.
But
—but—understand me, now!—I dont't intend—I don't mean—
Sir
Archy.
I
understand your meaning, my lovely coz, better than you do yourself; but I cannot
wait another minute to talk about it.—Hold—Miss Exbury!—
Hilaria.
Miss
Exbury!—ah! quick let me escape her!—O Valentine! the die is cast!—O Fashion
—tyrant Fashion! [Exit, passing hastily by Miss Exbury.]
[Enter Miss Exbury.]
Sir
Archy.
The
deer is fairly caught; and the best way to fix the business, will be to proclaim
it at once to all the family. [aside.]
Miss
Exbury.
Hilaria
run away?—Is it to favour his declaration? How I wish I had put on something
else! I wonder how my hair—[aside.]
Sir
Archy.
I
have taken the earliest opportunity to pay you my devoirs in your new habitation.
I have just had a little discourse with my cousin Hilaria, to whom I have had
the honour of presenting myself as ambassador from Lord Ardville.
Miss
Exbury.
My
uncle?—I suppose he has been asking his consent!—[aside.]
Sir Archy.
You
will pardon, therefore, the brevity of my visit, when you know that an expecting
Lover waits his doom from my lips. [going.]
Miss Exbury.
Lover?
—what!—how?—stay!—whom do you talk of?
Sir
Archy.
His
lordship,—Lord Ardville,—to whom I am carrying the news—That he is the
happiest of Men. She looks so confounded, that I fancy she expected to have
been his heiress! Poor thing! I must say a soft word to console her. [aside.]
Yes! the happiest of men!—while I... am the most miserable! [Exit.]
Miss Exbury.
What can this mean? Has Miss Dalton, at last, the perfidy to accept my uncle?
And has my uncle the barbarity to let such an offer as Sir Archy's want his
support? The most miserable of men!—Poor Sir Archy!—But our mutual attachment
shall prevail over every obstacle;—for, else, in this shabby dwelling, I
may be an old maid before I have another offer. O Mordaunt! what have you
not to answer for? I'll go & load him with reproaches—though he'll neither
listen to, nor mind me! He's so vastly easy about every thing, that if we
were all to faint away before him, he'd never find it out—unless we fell
over him!
END OF ACT II
